


The Umbrella Upheaval

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Misses [21]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:38:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten





	The Umbrella Upheaval

Robin glanced across at the office window as a particularly hard gust of wind lashed the rain against the glass, and sighed. She had to go and tail Redhead this afternoon, there was no getting out of it. Mr Suspicious had rung to say that his wife had mentioned she’d be meeting her girlfriends after her lunchtime gym session and perhaps staying out into the evening, which of course had convinced him she was going to spend the time with the mystery lover he persisted in believing she had.

_You can’t prove a negative, _Robin often wanted to tell him. Unless they actually strapped a helmet camera to the woman’s forehead, they could never prove she wasn’t seeing anyone. But they’d been tailing her for months now, and nothing. Robin was bored.

Strike just grinned and told her to suck it up when she complained. He was right. The job paid well and came with a membership to a fancy gym Robin could never have afforded on her salary. She was enjoying being fitter, having to fit in a swim or yoga or Pilates class most days to give her an excuse to be in Redhead’s vicinity. She tried to keep her distance from the other woman, not wanting to be recognised on the street, but they were on nodding terms now, something that made Robin feel vaguely guilty.

She couldn’t help feeling that her time would be better spent on other jobs, on people who actually needed help, rather than endlessly trying to assuage a paranoid husband’s fears. Sometimes she wondered what she would do if it turned out Redhead actually was having an affair. After she’d got over the shock.

She finished typing her report, saved and closed it. She’d had lunch. There was nothing stopping her now except the weather. With a heavy sigh, she stood and moved to pull her coat on, picked up her rucksack with her gym clothes in it. She didn’t feel in the mood today.

She rummaged under the spare coats - she kept a couple here so she could change it up when tailing someone long-term - for the umbrella, muttering to herself when she couldn’t find it. She pulled the coats aside and glared at the empty space in the slots below the coat pegs. Strike had taken the good umbrella.

It was a running joke between them. Robin had a little handbag umbrella that she maintained was handy for carrying about. Strike used the enormous golfing umbrella that used to belong to his Uncle Ted - huge and annoying to carry when not in use, but sturdy and windproof. He laughed at her spindly foldaway one and demanded to know the point of something that folded into one’s handbag when surely one wouldn’t put it in there wet anyway. They both knew Robin preferred the big one but wouldn’t admit it.

She sighed and fished the little umbrella out of her handbag and set off down the stairs. It would have to do.

She realised as soon as she opened the front door that this was a bad plan. The wind was too gusty. But the rain poured, and the weather seemed to calm a little as she hovered in the doorway, hesitating, so she put up her little umbrella and stepped out onto the street.

She set off along the pavement, dodging the puddles, concentrating on where she was putting her feet. The wind picked up again and she wrestled with it, shouldering her rucksack a little higher. Her handbag strap slipped, and she muttered to herself, shifting the umbrella to her other hand, pulling her handbag back up to her shoulder, trying to juggle everything at once.

Just as she thought she was rebalanced, a sharp gust of wind yanked at the umbrella. Robin clutched it tightly, and with a snap and a flap it turned neatly inside out and then collapsed, hanging forlornly from its handle, a carcass of twisted metal and dripping material. The yank on her arm dislodged her rucksack, which slithered down off her other arm and fell into a puddle.

“Oh, _bugger_!” Robin shouted crossly, as rain drenched her hair and ran down her neck. She dropped the broken umbrella and grabbed her rucksack, but the bottom was soaked. Her gym clothes would be wet.

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. “Bugger, bugger, _bugger_!”

Laughter from behind her made her spin around crossly even as she realised suddenly that the rain was no longer drenching her. Strike was stood behind her, shaking with mirth, his arm stuck out holding the big golfing umbrella over her head.

She glared up at him. “It’s not funny!”

He grinned, disarming her. “Oh, I promise you, from an outside perspective it was. You couldn’t have choreographed that better if you’d tried!” His dark eyes twinkled at her.

“Oh, fuck off,” Robin muttered, trying not to giggle. “I’m all wet now and my gym clothes are soaked.”

Strike picked up the broken umbrella and tossed it neatly into a nearby bin. “Give Redhead a miss for today,” he suggested kindly. “She might have decided to stay home herself in this filthy weather.”

Robin looked up at him, sorely tempted. He was clearly on his way back to the office. They had no further clients today. A cosy afternoon of tea and chat sounded so much more preferable than a shouty aerobics class in damp clothes.

His hair was wet, she realised. One shoulder was soaked. He was getting rained on because he was holding the umbrella over her head.

It was plenty big enough for two. She stepped forward, closer to him, so that the umbrella would cover them both. The breeze swirled around them, tugging on his arm, but he held firm. She could smell him suddenly, his cologne wafting around her, spice and a hint of cigarette smoke from his coat. His hand gripping the handle, so close to her shoulder now, was strong, his fingers capable.

Self-conscious suddenly, she pushed her wet, straggly hair from her face. _I must look a right state, _she thought. And he always manages to look so...masculine. This close, she could see little flecks of silver in the hair at his temples.

“How about it?” His voice was a little husky, his eyes on hers, fond and warm. “Put the kettle on, break out the good biscuits, play hooky for the afternoon...?”

It was so tempting. And his closeness was making her wonder suddenly if there mightn’t be more on offer. They might curl up together on the little sofa. Her head on his shoulder where she’d so often longed to lay it at the end of a long day. His big, strong hands...

The wind yanked at the umbrella again and Strike was pulled sideways. He swore a little and steadied the umbrella, turning it so that the swirling air couldn’t get up underneath it and try to snatch it again. Robin stepped back, appalled at the way her thoughts had drifted so far into the inappropriate.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll swim, they have towels there, and it won’t matter if my costume is wet already!” Her voice was too bright, too cheerful, making her cringe.

Strike nodded briskly, his expression carefully guarded suddenly. Robin turned away, but he spoke her name softly.

“Robin?”

She turned back.

“Take the umbrella.” He held it out to her. “I’m only heading back in for the day.”

Her heart fluttering, Robin reached to take it from him, careful to make sure their hands didn’t touch. “Thank you,” she murmured.

He smiled at her. “Text when you’re on your way back, I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Will do.”

They nodded at one another and Robin set off again. She managed to get all the way to the end of the street before looking back, just in time to see the door to their building slam in the wind.


End file.
